Giving Hope
by Seth Selwyn
Summary: An old book, a strange boy, and a chance to change a life. A Seth Selwyn story. This story takes place in Seth Selwyn's 5th year at Hogwarts. There are no Rowling characters, just places and ideas. All characters are my own. Reviews welcome.
1. Chapter 1

I buckle my bag and snatch my wand from the desk near the bed. Swinging the bag over my shoulder, I march out of the dormitory. A few of the other early risers are scattered throughout the common room. Some read, other write, several are playing instruments or singing softly, and two are sitting alone with their eyes closed, thinking.

While I wait for class to approach, I take out my History of Magic textbook and begin studying for the test during the upcoming period.

After a short stretch, I become bored with the studying. I know all of these stories down to the last detail and the most insignificant name. I rise from the cushion I had placed under the window. Yawning widely, I wander toward the bookshelf without really knowing what I'm going for.

The shelf has an extension charm placed on it, so the books there are seemingly without end. The initial layer changes every night, although the extent to which it does so varies. The older Ravenclaw students, myself included, have come to understand that the shelf can somehow sense emotion and sometimes see into the future. Students often retrieve books from the shelf that they are drawn to. They soon discover that they are the exact thing they needed, whether it be advice, inspiration, or just a good read.

My hands find their way to a small volume. I pull it from the shelf and it comes open in my grasp. A thin section of violet fabric flutters to the floor like a feather. I pick it up and read the faded lettering, barely visible on the dark cloth. It says, "Property of Eliza Suthers." The worn book is only about 70 pages long, and the words are written in careful type. Upon further scrutiny, I find that the pages have untidy additions scribbled in the margins in quickly written handwriting.

Before I can learn any more about the book, someone approaches me from behind. "Hi, Seth!" she says in her usual friendly tone.

"Good morning Carrie," I reply, smiling.

"What's that?" Carrie says suddenly, motioning to the book still in my hand. "Did you get it from the bookshelf?"

I sit at the table nearest to us. "Yeah," I reply. "I'm not sure what I'd need it for, though."

"You still think the shelf can think for itself?" she says disbelievingly. Carrie is one of the few Ravenclaws who doubt the strength of the enchantment surrounding the bookshelf.

"Of course. Haven't you seen it work?" I ask, knowing the answer that is common among the disbelievers.

"Yes, but that was just luck," she tries to explain. "Anyway, we'd better head to class or we'll be late. Not that Professor Binns would notice," she remarks.

"Yeah, I guess so," I say, slipping the book into my bag. "You know," I add as we walk to the dark wooden door, "Professor Binns isn't all there, even by ghosts' standards."

* * *

After my test is completed and handed in, I procure the old book from my bag. Realizing I hadn't seen the title yet, I glance at the front cover. In bold lettering it says "A Study of Quidditch," as well as a smaller subtitle in swooping gold that reads, "The Basics and Tips for Flying and the Game."

 _That would be interesting_ , I think to myself, _but I already know the rules the Quidditch. I'm really not good at it, but all the same, I really don't want advice from a bookshelf._ There's no reason I'd need this book, at least as far as I can tell. For a moment, I doubt the power of the shelf. Deciding there must be a reasonable explanation, I slide the book past the flap of my bag, storing it inside. The bell rings, echoing through the halls of the castle.

Hundreds of students shuffle up and down the stairs. A sound like a stampede of hippogriffs vibrates in the air. I walk quickly past the open door that leads to the grounds, wishing I had brought my scarf to protect me from the crisp autumn breeze. I glance at the hourglasses that tower like giants over the insignificant humans walking by. The emeralds in the hourglass that represent Slytherin's house points rise slightly higher than the Ravenclaw sapphires.

I slow my pace as I head down the stairs that lead to the dungeons. Now I really want my scarf and cloak; I have an hour of Potions class in the chilled, damp atmosphere of the dungeon classroom. I try to warm my hands by breathing into them.

On a small landing about halfway down the stone steps, I slip and fall hard. I look around and see a puddle of murky water, slowly fed by a constant dripping from the smooth ceiling. Somehow, my bag had come unbuckled during the fall. My belongings are spread across the landing and stairs, and my wand continues to clatter down towards the door.

Sighing, I scramble down the steps after my wand. I pick it up and stow it in my belt. I begin to stuff everything back into the now-wet bag as other students rush past me. Fortunately, my ink well didn't shatter.

I place my quill into my bag and do up the straps. I walk quietly (but carefully) down the stairs. If I don't hurry, I'll be late. I rush past several stragglers as my heart beats like a drum.

Just as I reach the classroom door, I hear a sound that freezes me in my tracks. Someone is crying.


	2. Chapter 2

I cast my eyes around, trying to find the source of the sound. Seeing no one, I follow my ears around the corner. Here I find a small boy who I deduce is in the second year. His black hair is disheveled and is casting a shadow over much of his face. His sleeve is ripped and his Slytherin tie looks stretched, as if someone tried to pull it from around his neck. He is curled into a ball in the corner, shuddering with sobs. The gray eye I can see is ringed with red. His face is shining with tears.

I kneel down on one knee. "Hey," I say in my best soothing voice. "Hey, are you okay?" Of course he isn't okay, but it's the best things I can think of to say under the current conditions. The boy stifles another sob. He turns to look at me. Suddenly I notice that his previously obscured cheek is bloated literally to the size of a cantaloupe and is covered in snitch-sized boils.

"What happened?" I ask consolingly. The boy only hides his face again in reply. "It's all right, I'm trying to help." I pause for a moment, then try again; "What happened?" Silence persists. A thought suddenly catches my attention. "Did someone do this to you?" Finally, the boy answers with a nod. "Does it hurt?" Another yes. I rise to my feet. "C'mon, let's get you to the hospital wing," I say, offering my hand for him to grasp. His gray eyes lock onto my own blue ones. I smile kindly. He takes my hand and I pull him to his feet.

"Let's see if Professor Calum has anything to help with that bruise, yeah?" I propose. "Stay here. I'll only be a moment." I leave the boy outside the classroom door while I poke inside.

Professor Calum turns his head at the creaking of the door. "There you are, Mr. Selwyn. You're late," he says in mock impatience.

"Yes, sir. But, there's a boy out there," I gesture towards the door, "and I think he's been hexed. His cheek's all swollen and blistered. I was wondering, do you have anything that could help?"

Professor Calum looks a bit surprised and flustered at my unusual request. However, he quickly recovers his relaxed stature. "Yes, I've got just the potion. Hold on." He strides quickly to the back of the classroom and searches through the cupboards.

Meanwhile, I look around the room at my classmates, who stare intently back. My eyes linger on one Slytherin student, Hugo Bog. As my eyes rest on him, I watch him snickering under his breath with one of his fellow simpletons. Then he turns back toward the door where I stand, a nasty smirk painted gruesomely across his face.

"Here you go," the potions master says, commanding my attention onto him. His arms are outstretched, offering me a cloth and a vial of clear liquid. "This should help with the pain, although it will sting a bit at first."

I take the materials and tell him, "Thank you, Professor. I'll take him to the hospital wing." I turn and open the door. "I should be back for part of class," I finish as I go through the doorway.

The boy is still outside the classroom. He seems to have calmed down a bit. I unstop and tip the bottle, catching the cascade on the cloth. "Here," I say giving the boy the cloth. "Put this on that bruise." He obeys and winces harshly. "Sorry. I forgot to warn you. Anyway, let's go. There a load of stairs." Trying to cheer him more, I joke, "But not as many as in Ravenclaw Tower. That's how most of us get our exercise."

He allows a microscopic smile to flicker momentarily across his swollen face. It disappears so quickly it could have been the torchlight throwing a misinterpreted shadow.


	3. Chapter 3

I take another tasteless bite of potatoes. I haven't seen that Slytherin since I dropped him off at the hospital wing, and I am now searching through the sea of heads that the Slytherin table ahead of me.

My friends are speaking to each other, but I only vaguely comprehend the meaning of their words. Some of them are from other Houses. I hadn't noticed that they had made their way over until very recently. I wish I could be a part of their conversation, but I simply can't focus. My mind wanders back to the hospital wing.

Finally, I see him sulk timidly into the Great Hall, his hand covering the right side if his face. Already I see that the swelling has lessened considerably.

"Excuse me," I say to my friends as I swing my legs over the long bench. "I'll be right back." I walk cautiously to the other side of the Ravenclaw table. I approach the Slytherin boy somewhat shyly and address him kindly.

"Hey. Is it all right if I sit here?" He turns his head and nods. "Are you feeling better?" I ask as I slide onto the bench next to him. He motions yes again. "Who hexed you?" I try.

The boy takes a shattering breath. "Hugo," he says. It hit me like a bludger – that was the first word I heard him speak.

"Hugo Bog?" I ask. "I swear," I continue threateningly, "someday he's gonna get a nasty curse put on him. I wouldn't be surprised if it was me who did it." I see the boy offer a small, sad smile. I force the next bit out before I can change my mind. "If you don't mind my asking, why'd he do it?"

Again the boy sighs. After an uncomfortable pause, he answers, "I don't know. He's just mean." His voice quivers; he seems on the verge of tears. "He was making fun of me because I'm no good at Quidditch." He averts his eyes and buries them behind his arms.

I sigh with sympathy for the poor kid. No one deserves to be treated that way. If only I could help…

"That's it!" I mutter to myself. I dash back to the Ravenclaw table and grab my bag. Pushing all aside, I search through it with the determination of a mule. Finally, I find the object.

I return to my place at the Slytherin bench. "Here," I address the boy again. "I found this in my common room." I hold out the book I had found. He looks up, his gaze alternating between it and me. "It'll help you be better at Quidditch," I explain. He takes the book and lays it on the table.

"Thanks, but…" His voice quickly stops as he stares at the cover. His expression is unreadable.

"What?" I ask quickly, hoping I hadn't offended him somehow. "What is it?"

The boy locks his eyes briefly on mine. They are shining with tears. Somehow, though, these are different than those that had come from his sadness. On the contrary, in fact – these are tears of joy.

"This book was my mother's. She died when I was six."

I am speechless, which happens about as often as a blue moon. Once I regain my ability to speak, I attempt (but fail) to say something to him. Again I try, saying, "Well – I – er… That's great! I think…" I swallow trying to speak more clearly. "I think you should keep it. Technically it's the property of Ravenclaw House, but at the same time, your mum _did_ leave it there. Also," I say a bit less like myself, "You probably need it more than any of us. I'd bet your mum left a few tips. It might be nice to read her writing again."

The boy is reading through the book, not listening to me. I decide I'd better be quiet. After a few more minutes, he closes the book.

I need something to say. "Do you want to sit with my friends?" I blurt. "They're very nice."

He nods, his face still wet. We go back again to the table reserved for my House. When we reach it, my friends abruptly stop their laughing, though their faces show that my arrival is the cause of their sudden silence. It seems they were talking about me. I don't mind.

"Hey everyone. Is it all right if he sits with us?"

Immediately Beth agrees, and the others follow suit. I sit to the right of Holly. The boy nervously shrinks into his seat further still from the rest of the group.

Jordyn is the first to speak up. "What's your name?" he asks. I don't even know his name! I feel pretty stupid, but no one else knows of my neglected social skills.

"Brent Mills," he says timidly.

All of us present consider ourselves really big nerds, myself included. All of us have a ridiculous obsession with movie quotes of ever sort.

"Hi, Brent," we all say in unison, quoting Finding Nemo. Everyone laughs, and even Brent giggles softly. For once, he seems actually happy.


End file.
